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Chapter 12: The Devil Fruit
🕑 Added 2024-12-19 11:34:53 +0000 UTCThe night deepened, and the wine was finished, along with the food.
Shanks and Yasopp departed.
Before they left, Mobin solemnly assured Yasopp that he would cherish the flintlock as if it were his own son.
Once Yasopp was gone, Mobin quietly gave the flintlock a new name—Usopp.
With the night growing darker, Mobin, now armed with a gun and bullets, lay in bed satisfied, gradually succumbing to sleep.
In his half-asleep state, he faintly heard Sol cursing about being deceived again and how all the wine was gone.
But none of that mattered anymore.
What mattered was that he now had a gun and bullets, marking a significant step toward his second hunt.
The next morning, Mobin woke up early again.
After a few sets of intense exercises, he went downstairs.
At this hour, Sunny had already prepared an overly generous breakfast, and Sol had left early for his daily “training” at the Red-Light District.
Once again, Mobin marveled at how excellent the food was at the shop—it was heavenly.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder: with such hearty meals, and given how much Sunny ate, how was she still so slender?
Pushing aside the mystery, he dug in.
After wolfing down his breakfast, Mobin voluntarily cleaned the table and even took the initiative to sweep the shop and surrounding areas.
When he noticed there was still time, he extended his cleaning spree to the corridors and staircases.
As Sunny came downstairs, she began meticulously adjusting the placement of merchandise with her measuring tools.
With everything tidied up, the shop began a new day of business.
Predictably, just like the day before, hours passed without a single customer.
However, the memory of Yasopp spending five million berries on two guns had shifted Mobin’s perspective.
Clearly, this was no ordinary shop but one that followed a high-end, boutique model—three days without a sale, but a single transaction could sustain it for years.
With nothing else to do, Mobin either refined his memories or engaged in his exercises.
Sunny, meanwhile, sat at the counter, immersed in the day’s newspaper.
Her relaxed attitude allowed Mobin to train freely without interference, which he appreciated.
Around noon, the shop door creaked open.
Mobin assumed it was Sol returning from his morning jaunt, but when he looked up, he saw it was the undertaker, Arthur.
Arthur entered, casually leaving the door ajar, and glanced at both Sunny and Mobin before asking, “Is Sol back yet?”
“Not yet,” Sunny replied, lowering her newspaper.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “This late? Seems like he’s getting younger with age.”
Sunny didn’t respond.
Unbothered, Arthur leaned against the counter and began venting his frustrations.
“There was a riot at the pig farms yesterday—nearly a thousand slaves were killed or injured. It was exhausting. Honestly, what were those slaves thinking? Staying alive peacefully isn’t good enough for them? And now look—production at the pig farms is going to plummet, and who’s going to suffer for it? The other slaves, of course.”
Hearing Arthur casually talk about slaves, Sunny’s expression turned icy.
Noticing her reaction, Arthur half-heartedly apologized, “Ah, my bad. Forgot you don’t like hearing about this stuff.”
Sunny snorted and ignored him.
Seeing the tense atmosphere, Arthur shrugged it off, took out a plain booklet from his pocket, and placed it on the counter.
“This is the catalog for today’s auction. I think Sol will be quite interested. Tell him I’ll meet him at the auction house at the end of the month.”
“Okay,” Sunny responded coldly.
Arthur smirked, turned to leave, and shot a glance at Mobin. His voice dropped to a sinister tone.
“Kid, best avoid wandering the streets for a while, unless you want to end up in the pig farms yourself.”
With that, Arthur left, but not before carefully pulling the door to its usual, half-open position.
Once Arthur was gone, Mobin approached the counter.
“Sunny, what are the pig farms?”
“The meat you ate this morning, part of it came from the pig farms. What do you think they are?”
“But what does that have to do with slaves—”
Midway through his sentence, Mobin suddenly connected the dots to some unspeakable scenes and turned pale.
“That meat isn’t…?”
Sunny immediately realized where his thoughts had gone and shot him a sharp look.
“What nonsense are you imagining? The pig farms are just food production sites, complete with livestock and agriculture. The people working there, however, are mostly ordinary folk captured by slavers or pirates, with the occasional marine soldier thrown in. That’s why they’re given the derogatory nickname.”
She added, glancing pointedly at Mobin’s still-bandaged injuries, “In the eyes of those animals, badly injured people like you aren’t worth much. Sometimes, they won’t even bother selling them on the black market and just toss them into the sea.”
Pausing for a moment, Sunny said flatly, “So yes, Mobin—you’re lucky.”
“Lucky…”
Mobin looked at the scar on Sunny’s face, which bore the signs of a disfiguring injury, and nodded.
“Yes, waking up here was indeed my luck.”
Sunny started to say more but stopped short. Her eyes suddenly lit up as she stared at the booklet Arthur had left behind.
“Devil Fruit! This auction is selling a Devil Fruit!”
“Huh?”
Mobin’s brows furrowed as he walked around the counter to see the catalog.
There it was—a fruit adorned with bizarre swirls, depicted in the illustration.
Mobin’s expression shifted immediately.
A Devil Fruit—a dream shortcut to power for so many!
But for now, such a treasure was utterly out of his reach.
Quickly regaining his composure, Mobin noticed Sunny’s hands trembling as she gripped the booklet. Her excitement was palpable—a hunger for strength.
“Something like a Devil Fruit is far beyond my reach for now,” he thought, turning his eyes away from the catalog.
Even though the fruit could accelerate his rise to strength, he had neither the money nor the power to claim it. There was no point in daydreaming.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel curious about the end-of-month auction.
He smirked inwardly. Even without money, attending to watch the drama could be worthwhile.
And who knows—perhaps some chaos might ensue over the Devil Fruit.
If so, a well-timed misfire from “Usopp” could work wonders...
Before Mobin could plan further, the shop door opened again.
This time, it wasn’t Sol, but a tall man with flowing blond hair and a blue, hole-patterned mask.
Mobin recognized him immediately.
It was Killer, one of the Supernovas and a member of Eustass Kid’s crew.
